Lessons
by AmericanCorvus
Summary: Hawke is getting good at debating with Fenris. Maybe too good?


Fenris sat silent, studying the now familiar cracks that pocked the plaster walls of the dilapidated mansion he found himself calling home. Home. Home hadn't been his intention when he had taken up residence, far from it. This overly ostentatious and for the most part empty husk had began as his own private "line in the sand," a challenge to Danarius to come and try to root him out but as time had passed the meaning of the space had changed without his even realizing it. And what was a home anyway? Really? He'd never had one, or not one that he could remember anyway. Was it where you laid your head or something more? A place you felt safe? A place you felt you belonged. A place where you yearned to return to when the world outside got entirely too complicated? That was the theory that he had worked on and this dwelling did indeed meet these criteria, but it wasn't that simple.

There were days when the walls seemed like a cage, when he couldn't get out the door fast enough even if it meant that he would have to endure the disapproving looks, the curious stares and whispered insults while fleeing Hightown. At least in Lowtown it was easier to blend, even with his curious tattoos. There people didn't ask questions or look too close because no one there was completely innocent. Not that the residents of Hightown were but money bought the illusion if not the reality. No Lowtown was where he felt most comfortable in public even if he did have to look over his shoulder more because for some reason humans felt an elf in armor was an elf looking for a fight. Even that had diminished over the years as word spread about him. Either that or it was Varric's handiwork. It really didn't matter a whit either way so long as he was left alone.

And yet even those days he would make his way back to Hightown, leaving the seediness and brutality and anonymity of Lowtown behind to return to the austere comfort of his stolen mansion. Often he would find himself pausing in the dark Chantry courtyard on the way to study the massive church, quietly questioning his own beliefs and contemplating the things that Sebastian had offered in his own faith. Much as he wished it, the Chantry held no answers for him, only more questions. Always more questions. Faith was a hard concept for someone who had never learned trust in anything that wasn't concrete and tangible but oh how he yearned for the kind of certainty and comfort that Sebastian offered.

"You're brooding again."

Fenris's head snapped towards the voice even as he realized to whom it belonged. Hawke stood leaning casually against the doorframe. Somehow she had managed to get in without his hearing and somewhere in the back of his head that bothered him. He had not realized his thoughts had gotten so deep they had blocked out everything else.

"And now you're glowing."

"I knew I should have had those locks changed," he drawled nonchalantly to cover his discomfort and, turning his back to her to compose himself, he fired over his shoulder. "All sorts of riffraff find their way in."

Hawke chuckled as she strode slowly up to the table, scooping up the book she had given him as she passed. "Figured I'd come see if you had any pressing appointments."

"Nothing."

"Good," she nodded as she held out the book. "You are actually getting quit good at this. I'll need to see about getting you some supplies and we can start working on teaching you to write."

Accepting the book, Fenris shook his head as he gently sat it down on his lap unopened. "I do not know why you are so determined that I have to learn to write. I understand that knowing how to sign my name would be good, but I have no reason to learn more than that."

"Fenris," she sighed as she pulled a chair next to his, "You should understand more than anyone I know that we never know what tomorrow might bring. Did you really need to learn to read? Not really. People live their whole lives without knowing how to but it limits them. It's the same with writing." She settled herself into the chair and reached out to lay her hand on the still closed book in his lap. "This is a tool, a tool that gives you access to the world. You can sit in this room and know what it is like to be in the courts of Orlais or a hovel in Denerim. But in order for books to have power someone has to write them."

"But," Fenris snorted, "I do not have a subject to write about that anyone would care to read."

"I disagree."

That, she noted when he cocked his head and regarded her silently, slowed him down. This discussion was becoming a regular debate between them and she had just thrown down a gauntlet she had held in reserve.

"I vehemently disagree," she amended as she leaned back in her chair. "You have the same subject we all have. You. You have lived through more than most and frankly you're not dead yet. And you give yourself away with all this brooding…" Holding her hand up she managed to forestall his protests and chuckled. "You live as much inside your own thoughts as you do in the world is what I mean. Anyone with that much to think about also has that much to write about, even if no one else ever sees it. Sometimes putting your thoughts where you can look at them makes them more real and that can make their validity or folly more obvious."

Blinking thoughtfully he let his gaze drop to the now familiar book. Sensing she had metaphorically drawn blood Hawke fell silent to let him think over what she had just said for several heartbeats before taking a deep breath and reaching out to lay her hand over his, happy that he didn't for once have his gauntlets on. As she expected the unexpected touch grabbed his attention before he fell too deeply into his reverie, locking it on her as she gazed into his amazingly lovely eyes. Sighing she wished not for the first time that things could be different.

"Fenris, you are more than you think. You are not a simple escaped Tevinter elven slave although that alone would be enough. You have a depth that not every man has and that isn't the product of these," she let one of her finger stray over one of the tattoos at his wrist. When he tried to pull away she strengthened her grip, not allowing him to withdraw. "It isn't from any training or ritual or any single event in your life. It is who you are, everything else just built on that foundation. You need to understand that because that is what makes what you have to say worth listening to."

"But I cannot remember this foundation you go on about," Fenris scowled, pulling his hand way. "I do not know who I am."

"But you do," Hawke replied quickly, having gone over this conversation in her head again and again to make sure she could counter the inevitable arguments he would present. "I do, everyone around you does. We can see who you are as sure as we can see you sitting there. It has nothing to do with your name or you're past. I'm a mage but magic isn't what defines me, it is just a tool I know how to use same as those tattoos of yours. Writing is a tool as surely as those, tools that different people use in different ways. Writing could easily be the tool that helps you to understand yourself."

The angry reply that had sprang to mind as she spoke died on the sharp edge of the final soft spoken words she threw at him. Blinking as he absorbed them he realized that this conversation had gotten away from him. Ordinarily he resented violently anyone probing his past but he suddenly realized that wasn't what this was about and it made him uncomfortable in a way that only Hawke seemed capable of with her astute observations. Perhaps, he mused that was why he seemed to be unable to tear himself from her orbit regardless of how painful and uncomfortable it was to be in her presence? Because something in her challenged him? Because she didn't allow him to fall back into his own misery without remark where others seemed afraid to provoke his ire deliberately? Turning his gaze to her again, he studied the astonishing beautiful woman next to him. Her open and frank expression he knew was at odds with his own closed countenance. Not for the first time he wished he was stronger, capable of being what she deserved. A shot of sadness stabbed through him and he pulled his gaze away, but not before Hawke saw its shadow fall over the anger in his eyes and even though she knew that it was necessary she felt an echo inside her own chest as it tightened. A tense silence fell as both worked to compose themselves, Hawke succeeding first.

"Let's just worry about one thing at a time," she sighed. "Reading today, writing tomorrow."

Fenris didn't reply right away, he simply stared at the pocked plaster again. Using the comfort of its familiar patterns to quiet the inner turmoil inside his head, he realized something. Home wasn't just where you laid your head or where you felt comfortable. It was a space where you could find peace, regardless of what was going on. An ironic smile curled the corners of his mouth slightly as he took a breath and looked levelly at Hawke.

"I'll think about it."

Although it was the exact same reply she had received again and again Hawke couldn't help the grin that spread across her face when his attention shifted to the book as he opened it to the last page they had worked on. She'd won and she knew it, he just wasn't ready to concede yet. Squashing the elation she nodded to herself as she replied in the same way, with the same even tone she always had at the end of this debate.

"You do that."


End file.
